Rebecca Winters: Her Desert Prince

Rashad glanced at the heads of the various departments seated around the conference table. He’d called in the most trusted of those who worked for him.

“Gentlemen. Today I met with the chief geologist and engineer who’ve given me the news I’ve been waiting for. The recent finds of minerals are so vast, my vision of opening up whole new industries to benefit my father’s kingdom has been realized. Besides thousands of new jobs over time, it will mean more education opportunities for the tribe. More hospitals and health care.”

Cheers resonated off the walls of the conference room.

This land had belonged to his family for centuries. They had rights to all the minerals and metals being taken from the ground. Various tribes throughout the years had coveted this area rich in resources beyond anyone’s dreams and had come against the people of Al-Shafeeq, spilling too much blood, but they’d never prevailed. Thankfully, in these modern times, there wasn’t that same kind of strife. Any problems today came from within the circle of Prince Shafeeq’s own extended family, but he didn’t have time to think about that now.

“Tonight when I return to the palace, I’ll inform the king, who will be overjoyed.” These days his father suffered from diabetes and had to be more careful in everything he did and ate. “I have no doubts he’ll declare a day of celebration. Your hard work has not gone unappreciated and each of you will receive a large bonus for your excellent work and your loyalty to the royal family.”

With spirits so high, he barely heard someone calling to him. He turned his head. “Your Highness,” the gold-plant manager beckoned to him from the doorway amidst the escalating noise. Rashad saw the concerned look on his face and excused himself to go out in the hall.

“Forgive me for disturbing you, but there was a sandstorm between El-Joktor and Al-Shafeeq, catching a caravan en route unawares.”

The bad news tarnished an otherwise red-letter day. “You have eye witnesses?”

“A passing horseman saw what was left of it from a distance and rode here for help. He noticed some camels wandering, but had no idea how many tribesmen survived or are dead and buried beneath the sand.”

His gut clenched. “How far away?”

“Twelve miles.”

“Assemble a search-and-rescue party to head out on horseback with supplies immediately. Have water loaded on to my helicopter and I’ll fly over the site to assess the damage and look for survivors. If needs be, I’ll airlift the worst casualties to Al-Shafeeq.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Rashad rejoined the men in the conference room and told them what had happened. The news galvanized everyone into action. They ran out the door behind Rashad to help in the rescue effort.

“Tariq? Come with me!” At a time like this, they would need all the help they could get and Tariq was a trusted colleague at the plant. His help would be invaluable.

At the waiting helicopter where water and other emergency supplies were being loaded, Rashad climbed into the pilot’s seat and did a pre-flight check. One of his bodyguards sat in back, followed by Tariq, who finished loading supplies then strapped himself in the co-pilot’s seat.

It was always dangerous to approach strangers in the desert, but with the knowledge that his own tribesmen might be involved, Rashad couldn’t look the other way. Within seconds he had the rotors whining and they lifted off.

He wished he could fly this machine as fast as his tribe’s famous streamlined falcons flew. When they went into a stoop for their prey, Rashad had clocked them doing 200 mph. Getting to the scene of the tragedy quickly was crucial if it meant lives could be saved.

This part of the desert was known for violent winds that rose up suddenly without warning. Sandstorms weren’t so common in the area, but when they did come, they could be devastating.

Before long he spotted cloaked figures and camels clustered together. Tariq handed him the binoculars for a better look. All were waving. The situation might not be as bad as first reported. He gave back the glasses and set the helicopter down a short distance off, willing to take the risk to his own safety.

“Careful, Your Highness,” Tariq cautioned. “It could be bandits luring us into the open. Someone may have planned an ambush and is waiting for us to walk into it.”

Rashad supposed it was possible, but then a group of men from the caravan came running toward them and Rashad recognized Mustafa Tahar before they bowed down to praise the prince for their deliverance.

“It’s all right,” Rashad advised his companions. Even as the blades were still rotating, whipping up sand, Tariq began lowering supplies. Rashad shut off the engine and jumped down to help carry water, that vital necessity meaning life or death under these circumstances.

Mustafa, a reputable caravan cameleer from the oasis whom Rashad had known for years, motioned him over to a spot where he saw a body laid out on the sand and covered by blankets.

“This one is still alive, but without a doctor to rehydrate her, she will not live. I tried to give her the little water I had left, but it ran out of her mouth.”

“She?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Rashad hunkered down and lifted the blanket off her body, surprised to see a woman lying on her side wearing a man’s kandura. His fingers felt for a pulse at her slim wrist. It was slow, but it was there. She wore no jewelry on her delicate hands, only a gold watch around her wrist. Rashad noticed that she was already feverish.

His gaze traveled over her, stunned by the sight of hair as diaphanous as gossamer despite the sand particles. Her beauty was a revelation. It caused him to pause for a second before he reached down and picked her up; her slight weight filled his arms, sending an odd sensation through him.

Though his people believed in omens, he was more skeptical and refused to credit what he was feeling as anything more than a response to an attractive female. He hadn’t been with one in several weeks. Affairs of state for his father had kept him too busy.

This woman’s pallor didn’t diminish her fresh-faced, porcelain complexion. A slight fruity fragrance escaped the silkiest hair ever to touch his cheek. Wisps of it, not confined, framed classic features. Her feminine scent tantalized his nostrils and further weakened him in ways his mind refused to acknowledge.

Mustafa followed him to the helicopter where Tariq assisted in strapping her into the seat behind them.

“She was traveling to Al-Shafeeq.”

“Alone?” Rashad couldn’t imagine why.

“Yes.” Mustafa scratched the side of his cheek. “I thought it strange, too. Here is her passport.”

Rashad grimaced before putting it inside his pocket. “Is there anyone else who needs immediate treatment?”

“No, Your Highness.”

“Good, then I’ll fly her to the palace for medical care. Help is coming from Raz with provisions for you. They’ll be here soon.”

Mustafa nodded his thanks and once more Rashad started up the helicopter, this time heading for Al-Shafeeq. He reached for his satellite phone to call Nazir. His personal assistant at the palace would make certain the doctor for the royal family would be standing by ready to take over.

After a short flight, Rashad put down at the side of the palace. He let Tariq and the bodyguard lower the woman out of the helicopter. The less he had to do with this incredibly appealing female, the better. A team of medical people rushed forward and took her seemingly lifeless form inside.

Assured she’d get the best treatment possible, he told the men to climb back in the helicopter and he’d fly them back to Raz. Rashad still had business to finish up.